I guess sometimes art does imitate life

Having previously established why we love the French, here's a funny story from our crazy road trip...
Since I was coming from Konstanz and my sister and mother were coming from the Heidelberg area, we decided it would be best if we met up where the train line intercepted their "car line". I got there a bit early, but soon enough the two of them pulled up in my parents' obnoxiously orange car. What we hadn't realized was that Offenburg's main train station is a really bad place to meet up. Yes, it is right off the Autobahn... but the signage is really bad and not at all conducive towards getting back ON the Autobahn and into France.

My mother no longer has any patience for crazy car drivers (maybe this is one of the many traits I've inherited from my mother?!), my sister is a good navigator but not a very insistent one - and I just wasn't going to get involved. I've learned when to keep my mouth shut.
Our first attempt, which involved following the signs took us right back to the train station. Our second attempt which involved following my mother's gut instinct (which usually is a good compass to follow) plus the signs spun us in another circle - and we suddenly dead ended at the beginning of a pedestrian zone. Yes, one might have thought that there would be sort of indication that the street ends suddenly with no opportunity to turn around or anything, but maybe we were just too close to France.
So there we sat. When suddenly...
You know how in slap-sticky comedy flicks things get really crazy and people are chasing each other and running away and missing each other and there's complete chaos there's always a marching band that will come out of nowhere and add exponentially to the confusion? And every time you watch a movie like that, you think, riiiiiiiiiiiiight, like that would really happen. Every time. Who comes up with this stuff? Isn't art supposed to imitate life?
Well, either art does imitate life or sometimes life just imitates art, but just as we came to a complete stop and frustration hit it's high point -
yes, the marching band began to play. I couldn't help myself and started laughing: "Really?! Really?! A marching band?!". Ok, it wasn't actually marching toward us aiming to engulf us and slam it's cymbals through the window and the trumpet player did not walk up onto the roof of our car or anything - they were sitting in the town square playing peacefully (albeit loudly) but still - a marching band?!
We did make it out on our third attempt and were merrily on our way... once we were rolling towards France we all started giggling, seriously? a marching band?!

How moving to my "native country" suddenly made me German...

It recently occurred to me that Sunday is the 4th of July and general convention dictates that I should have plans for the 4th of July. I don't think it matters what kind of plans - just that they exist and somehow make this day different from all others.
People have asked me what we do for the 4th of July in Germany. I generally answer something to the effect of, well if it's a weekday, we do normal weekday stuff and if it falls on a weekend we do weekend stuff.
They usually look confused for a minute or two.
Then understanding sets in and they say, oh yeah that's right, you don't have 4th of July in Germany. I generally cannot help myself but reply, uh, yeah we do. It comes right after July 3rd and until now has always been followed by July 5th - at least to my knowledge.
Though who knows, if Germany looses to Argentina on the 3rd, the world may end and there may really not be a 4th of July in Germany. Okay, I"ll admit, the main reason my parents have managed to swear off watching any World Cup Games this year has to do with the fact that I'm not around to turn the TV on. I like soccer. And when it comes to soccer, I will always stick with Germany. Always have, always will, even when they go head-to-head with the US. I'm invested in the outcome, to the extent that I'll watch the game, cheer if they ("we") do well, groan and roll my eyes if they ("they") start doing stupid stuff.  If they win I'll be there for the semi-finals and if they loose... well then they loose.
Actually, I think soccer is the only part of my life, I've actually chosen a country, national/cultural identity if you so will.
Interesting fact(s):
For two decades I was "the American", I had to deal with people mispronouncing my name, people making fun of American stereotypes, being criticized for whatever our former president came up with,... though for the most part, people close to me accepted that I was just me.
For two years on the ship I was "and Shannon..." during our parade of nations (sidenote: PON, which I usually avoided because it confused people to have me in them... had funky music and one by one people would walk on stage in their national costume being introduced as "Akira from Japan, representing the USA Anna-Marie, etc), after people began to accept (after initial hesitation and insisting that one HAD TO BE FROM ONE COUNTRY) that I was just me both German and American and neither.
All of the sudden, I have become German. People ask me where I'm from I usually say I grew up in Germany despite my US Passport. I've never really implied I was German. People are generally surprised by my lack of an accent and I always explain that with both my parents being American we always spoke English at home. But interestingly enough, from several people that I'd known and spent a lot of time with after about half a year they all the sudden were confused about my non-Germanness. (other people on the other hand played rugby with me for half a year and never wondered why people referred to me as "the German").
I don't really care, nor am I particularly bothered. I'm way past cultural crises. I'm still just me, and I reckon at the rate I'm going (and the places I'm might still be interested in going to), things aren't going to get any more simple. But then I've never been, anyway (it's okay, I know what you were all just thinking). Though I do think that sometimes it bothers me how quickly people are ready to "box me" and others up and put a cute little label on it.
Maybe what bothers me more, is the fact that they're are so willing to restrict themselves to their own little box - forgetting minor details such as that while "July 4th" does exist in every other country, it's of little to know importance to them. We're talking about the Birth of a Nation - and there's quite a bit happening beyond that.
Maybe what bothers me is that people are so quick to be content with what is right before their eyes. Yes, I understand that "stereotypes" can be helpful in an initial assessment of the situation, and I love making jokes based on stereotypes (I don't believe in political correctness, it just makes life boring), in my own respectful way. But there is so much more to the world and to people than what initially meets the eye. People and their stories can be so interesting. It usually only takes a little bit of thinking , a few logical steps and deductions to gain a world of understanding. Why is it, that people generally don't think things through? It seems that most people's world ends at the edge of their soup bowl.
I mean really, with a name like Shannon O'Leary how German could I really be?

On jet lag...

You know what they say about jet lag? All those tips and tricks you can read on how to avoid it, when to sleep, drink eat and stand on your head?
Well, truth be told. Jet lag is a tricky thing, You never know exactly how and when it will set in. I maintain to this very day, that I live in my own private little time zone and the reason why I occasionally sleep during class is that crossing over into the real world leaves me a wee bit jet lagged.
I usually don't have that much problems with jet lag, and in my experience jet lag is always less of a problem when heading east. Which is why, I had come up with a brilliant plan, which involved me arriving Thursday evening (about 12AM my time), staying up a few more hours so as not to rise and shine before 5 or 6am East Coast time, take care of a bunch of little administrative stuff Friday morning and then head out to Pennsylvannia for a rugby weekend, involving a practice session Friday evening and a tournament Saturday with the NRU (the Northeastern Rugby Union). I'd be back Saturday evening. In time to do a quick load of laundry and repack my bags for a 4-5 day "cruise" trawling for sturgeon.
In my defense, I had planned to nap Friday afternoon in the car. That didn't exactly happen and I somehow procrastinated my actual jet lag until Monday when I power-napped between setting the net in and pulling out and sorting through a bunch of fish.
Friday evening is a bit hazy, though apparently I managed not to make a complete fool of myself during practice. Or that evening at the dinner table, when we all sat at a loooooooooong table at one of the coaches house. I remember trying to remember names (I had told the girls that I was completely jet lagged and probably wouldn't remember their names. But I always enjoy meeting new players and looked forward to meetin them again on Saturday). I don't really remember going to bed...
Saturday morning I woke up. It was one of those slow, confused awakenings that are more like re-gaining consciousness than actually waking up. It started with - "why am I still wearing my rugby shorts?" To "where am I and why am I on the floor?" (apparently I'd rolled off the air mattress I was sleeping on) and ended with "Why am I in a strange attic and who are all these people?!".
Such is life. But then doesn't everyone have a crazy story about waking up in a strange attic somewhere?!

Why we love visiting French...

I grew up a few hours from the German-French border.
The German-French relationship is interesting in the least, a bit of a love-hate relationship, full of stereotypes, tightly connected through their history - a weighty past full of conflict. The O'Leary-Ladies-France relationship is one of fun times and entertainment...
I believe O'Leary-lady outings in France took their epic beginning while my sister was living near Bordeaux and my Mom and I drove down to see her. We whizzed through the roads of the Dordogne Valley, climbed large dunes, sat in cafes, explored little alleyways, were terrified by the French driving (and how quickly sister had transformed from a formerly timid driver into a crazy French one) and - were highly entertained.
This time we ventured into the Elsass - a place known for quiche, wine, storks, amazing views of the Vogueses, old churches, little towns full of alleys, cafes and tea houses, oh and funky signs.
I think that's part of why we are so entertained. Even though both my sister and I speak a bit of French and know what the signs actually mean, it sometimes is far more entertaining to read into them using our German and English...
Take for example the "Rue de Tetes" - the street of heads. Seriously, this is a country known for guillotines, how can you not imagine where that name came from. Suppose from a time when heads were literally rolling through streets? I'll leave it at that. Of course, once we started joking about that we saw odd heads everywhere... everywhere.
Oh the French. And the O'Learys. What a wonderful mix.

Why there are no pictures from Konstanz

During my three weeks in Germany I was able to reconnect with so many good friends. It was both surprising and comforting how easily I slid back into chatting, joking around, heart-to-hearts and hanging out - almost as if we were merely catching up after the summer months.
I whizzed through Konstanz on a tight schedule, I got on a train, hopped off a train to bake cookies with my former partner in crime in the lab, hopped back on the train, went to rugby practice with my old team, hung out with former class mates at favorite Irish pub with classmates, I hung out on my old campus, laughing when people squeeled across the hallway/parking lot and running towards me "Shaaaaaaaaaannon"... it was good to be back.
I covered most of the city and saw people's new apartments, had lunch, ice-cream, dinner with various people, and finally met the husbands of some of my closest friends (yeah, really everyone is getting married).
I spent my last rainy day with some amazing friends, just talking, discussing, ranting - sharing each others lives... that night just before we said our good-byes I was laying on my friends bed just taking it all in and, the sighed and said: "I love you guys... I wish I could pack all of you in my bag and take me with you back to my island".
Before I knew it I was back on a train heading out... I usually use my train rides to download pictures off my camera, organize them as a way to "relive" the experience and process all that happened. As I reached for my backpack I realized that in the whirlwind of four very packed days I hadn't snapped a single picture. Not one.
These are the people that for three years where my "Konstanz-family". Some of the literally the first people I got to know and made friends with and connected with from the first time we introduced ourselves - other friendships matured over time, some where even people I hadn't spoke to much until my final semester.
These are the people I shared my life with, who picked me up and carried me through the rough patches, who laughed at my stories and jokes and shared their worries and joys with me.
These are the people that touched my lives in ways they (and maybe even I) don't realize. That really know me. The kind of people that I not only have a many good conversation with, who patiently waited as I put words to whatever was going around in my head, but would also sit with you in silence if there was no need to talk.
These are the people that you will see on plenty of pictures of various fun activities and crazy adventures throughout my "college days". And yet, I suppose I was so caught up in cherishing every moment during my brief visit...
I leaned back and recalled some of the conversations I'd had, sitting around in a pub exchanging stories, catching up, people riding on a bike and waving "Shaaaaaaaaannon, you're back!", laughing, bear-hugs and good byes ("see-you-laters" as I prefer to call them).
I don't need pictures. They're in my heart.

Top 10 ways to know you're back in Germany...

10. The guy in the airplane gets all upset because the stewardess served him dinner.
Yeah, apparently he told the "pasta-serving stewardess" he didn't want anything, and when the "chicken-serving stewardess came through giving everyone with an empty tray chicken she naturally put one on his empty tray. When she asked if everyone now had everything they wanted they needed he got quite vocal and the poor stewardess was quite confused.
9. The aerial view shows a patchwork of fields, rolling hills and NO BASEBALL FIELDS
We play soccer here. If your village has more than 11 guys... there is a soccer club and a soccer field.
8. People speak German.
I realize this doesn't come as that much of a surprise, but the fun part is, people speak a wide variety of dialects. I missed my German dialects.
7. We have colorful money.
Diligent readers of my blog have heard this before, but having every bill be a different color makes life SO MUCH EASIER. It really does. U.S. Money Designers - are you reading this?
6.  Castles
We all get one. Even Schriesheim,...
5. Doener
Macht schoener. Ehrlich.
4. Cobblestone pedestrian zones,... small alleyways,... old buildings,...
We call it history.
3. Chocolate
Need I say more?
2. It's totally normal and okay to go places on your bike. There are places to park your bike EVERYWHERE
Dear Long Island: Bikes are a good thing.
1. My family is here.
They're kinda awesome.

I travel with a helmet

I am almost packed. There are still a few things that need to be packed - or not packed. Depending on how much space I have. For example my helmet.
Last year I flew to Scotland together with my bike and had my helmet attached to my carry-on. A little boy saw this and tugged his Daddy's coat sleeve: "Daddy, why does she have a helmet?".
And I said: "Ah yes, it's these cheap airlines. You never know what's going to happen. And they make you pay extra for everything - now you even have to bring your own life jacket!".
And the little boy said: "Daddy, did we bring our life jackets?!"